


Shattered

by ashestocrows



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashestocrows/pseuds/ashestocrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years after the defeat of Pitch, Jamie suddenly stops believing in Jack. The after effects are shattering to the frost spirit, and he finds consolation and understanding in only one person: Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing was the same. Nothing was quite as fun anymore. And most of all, nothing hurt more than the empty hole in Jack's heart. Jamie had forgotten him. His belief was nothing but a small flickering flame in a winter wind now, and Jack could feel it radiate through the marrow of his bones; the loss, and the abandonment of the boy who first believed in him.

Jack supposed he had been expecting it. He'd been preparing himself for something, for an emptiness in his heart, but nothing like this. Nothing like the ripping pain in his gut that constantly reminded him - no, taunted him - over the loss of Jamie's devotion. Memories of a small boy who would come running out to play in the first snow surfaced, and of the day that he aided the Guardians in their fight against Pitch. Now, all that was gone. Everything had been lost because one boy stopped believing.

Of course Jack had felt loss and pain before. When he discovered that Man in the Moon spoke to the other Guardians, but not to him, for example, had left him confused and strangely hollow. Watching his sister grow up without him was another. Seeing her cry day after day, night after night about her lost brother tore his heart to shreds, knowing that she would soon forget about him like everyone else. Feeling hundreds, maybe thousands of children walk right through him when he shouted at them to believe, when he fell sobbing to the ground in desperation. None of that pain compared to this; to the loss of Jamie.

Pitch had once warned him it would turn out this way. What had he said...that being a Guardian was splendid, but there was a catch. If enough children stopped believing, then you would eventually disappear. But Jack had only had Jamie, and before that? No one. The other children forgot so quickly, before they even reached Middle School. Jamie continued believing, even when people taunted him for it. He was so strong, and Jack secretly cherished the nights when no one but himself was there to let Jamie lean on his shoulder and cry. To wrap him in a cold hug and remind him that everything was still alright, that he just had to believe. So many years passed that way, just him and Jamie. Jack had watched him grow, become a young man, just as happy to be with Jack as when he was younger. 

And then she came.

She was beautiful. Her hair was long down her curved back, and her hips jutted out in the way that made men and women alike watch her strut down the street. Her laugh was even better than the waking chirps of birds at dawn. It was her kindness, though, that made Jack truly hate her. Without meaning to, she drew all attention to her. Not only was she beautiful, with black locks and shining grey eyes, she was kind enough to make your heart flutter. 

Jack wanted to throw a brick of snow at her perfect nose.

But Jamie was utterly in love, and the worst part was, she loved him back. Soon, all thoughts of Jack faded. He soon forgot about his frosted friend, and left without a second thought. It was her fault. It was all her fault he had lost his one light in the solitary life he was forced to lead, but there was nothing Jack could do. Once Jamie stopped believing, that was it. He couldn't see Jack, couldn't feel him as he walked right through his old friend, couldn't hear the rough cries that emitted from the broken spirit.

Nothing was the same.

With a shout of anger, Jack kicked off a heavy load of snow from the icy hill he stood atop. He was here again, lost in the blurred white scenery of Antarctica, as far away from anyone as he could get. The massive structure that had been created with darkness and ice still stood looming over the chasms the frozen wasteland presented before him.

Something about looking at the huge thing comforted Jack. The ice and cold always made him feel better, but the darkness mixed within held something calming within. It emitted such a strange aura, drawing Jack towards it and keeping the wildlife away. Especially now, when all Jack wanted was to punch a wall, the darkness was comforting to him. It provided a barrier between him an the world. After just one visit to the Pole for the annual Post-Christmas Party, Jack realized just how oppressing the other Guardians were. They had already formed their group years before Jack was even born as a human, and they had their old jokes with each other. It was routine for them, and Jack didn't fit in. Besides, all they enjoyed was working and working all year round, which was practically against ever fiber of Jack's being. Jack loved nothing more than to screw around, and messing up someone's work was incredibly entertaining to him. The Guardians didn't find it so funny, and he had been kicked out of the party that year. He just didn't fit in with their light and their laughter. Darkness was something he could relate to, something that could hide how broken he was underneath a blanket of warmth. It helped him keep up the act of being the Guardian of Fun, when all he wanted to do was spread ice storms and blizzards across the world.

Darkness...why darkness? Why did dark provide the shield that other things – simpler things – could not?

Jack sighed and shuffled through more snow towards the black icy structure. It was so beautiful. So horridly, dangerously beautiful...but beautiful nonetheless. The words Pitch spoke to him her in this very spot still rang heavy in his ears, and were all the more vivid now that his loneliness pulsated through him, even stronger than before. Being a Guardian held no meaning to him anymore. He was just Jack. He was just broken. And he just wanted the pain to end.

He leaned heavily on the huge wave of frozen ice and sand, running over Pitch's words in his mind. Maybe the Nightmare King really did understand. Maybe even now, he was holed up in that cavern below the Earth thinking of Jack and how they held the same loneliness. It made Jack's heart ache to think about, someone else being as shattered as he felt right now. Even if that “someone” was Pitch.

When the Guardians and the children had defeated Pitch, had he felt just as broken? Just as worthless and empty? He deserved it, of course. Jack wouldn't argue with that. But there was still that gnawing sense of pity inside him, as well as curiosity about the man. What if Pitch was thinking of Jack right now? What if he was jealous of Jack for having Jamie? What if Jack had joined Pitch that day? Would he be as lonely and broken as he was now?

"NO."

The word came out without a second thought, Jack's body flinging forward off the structure. It surprised him how abruptly his whole being seemed to reject his own thoughts.

"You are not going to do this," he told himself sternly. "You're upset and you're being irrational, you should just-"

With a loud crack, a piece of the structure broke off and fell down right on Jack's head, making him yelp loudly. He curled into a crouch, pressing his hands gently to his scalp to feel for blood, and his eyes landed on the fallen piece. It had shattered easily into a hundred pieces due to its fragility from so many years of standing in the harsh winds of the Antarctic. Now Jack watched as the black sand dissolved and flew away in the breeze, leaving nothing but a broken pile of ice in a pile of snow.

It reminded Jack strongly of his own heart, shattered and empty. He realized that without the sand within, the ice wouldn't have stayed up for so long. The ice made it strong, made it resilient to the weather. Without it, the ice was nothing but a translucent shell, easily broken if you have the right tools and the right force.

"You're going to do this, aren't you?" he murmured to himself, scooping the ice into his hands gently, brushing away the snow. He took one cursory glance back at the structure before his mind was made, his fingers gripping tightly to his staff as the wind picked up and carried him away, right for Pitch's lair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack invades Pitch's lair, but in a different way than he was expecting, and learns what the Nightmare King has been up to for the past fifteen years.

Burgess was still just a tiny town full of animated people. They were just the kind of people who would believe in the Guardians, and the longer Jack looked around, the more his chest felt tight and achy. It was hard to be constantly reminded that the other Guardians would always be believed in, but Jack was so easily forgotten.

He flew over Jamie's old house without looking down, knowing that Sophie was still there, probably in High School by now. Jack didn't even feel a flicker of warmth, meaning she didn't believe anymore.

Honestly, Jack hadn't expected any better. Girls matured so much faster than boys, and Sophie in particular had so quickly moved from faeries and bunnies to Screamo music and black hair dye. Sophie probably didn't even remember her trip to the Warren. It was just an old dream to her.

With a deep breath Jack kept going, flying through the town and into the forest. Frost made the trees stiff behind him, and knocked free a few fragile pine cones as he quickly found the clearing where Pitch's lair was.

The entrance in Burgess was still completely covered up. With Jack's presence came a thin layer of crystalline white on the bare dirt surrounding the crater. There was no sign of the rotting bed that once stood there.

The spread of frost gave him a sense of security in the eerie silence that surrounded the clearing. No wind stirred the trees, and there was no sign of any life, human or animal. The sky was clouded tonight, leaving him in utter darkness. It was only the glowing light from his staff that allowed Jack to see anything past the tip of his nose.

“Last chance to go back,” he muttered to himself, flexing his fingers stiffly.

He kept telling himself to turn around, to hide back away in the ice and snow and wait several years until the pain subsided. But Jack was not a creature of patience. It was why he was so grateful for his gift. If he wanted snow, all he had to do was find someplace in winter and have a ball. Bunnymund and North, they had to wait all year for their chance to renew the children's belief in him. But at least they were still believed in.

Jack shook his head of the thought, remembering Jamie with a sharp pain.

It was now or nothing.

He swore softly and flew into the air, stopping several meters above the crater. It would only take a small amount of power to blast it back open. Maybe one or two strikes of his ice would do it.

Tightening his grip on his staff, he allowed the blueish light to flare out beneath him, bringing to view the entrance below so he could easily aim for it. Just a bit of power and –

“I must say it would be a joy to watch you waste your energy...”

Jack jerked, spinning around to see something glowing in the shadows of the trees.

“...but I would prefer you to not destroy my lair.”

The lanky figure of Pitch stepped out into the pale light emanating from Jack's staff, his eyes especially bright golden. They held the same furious light that Jack hadn't seen since the day they battled. And yet...it was duller than usual. Even his posture seemed to scream a story of weariness and pain. It reminded Jack of himself, and he wondered if his posture was similar, if his blue eyes were just as dull.

“What do you want, Jack?” the Nightmare King asked in a languid voice, holding composure despite how evidently tired he was.

The winter spirit slowly floated down to the ground, crouching lightly atop the crook of his staff. He wasn't sure if he was beginning to regret this or not. He wasn't even sure if he was truly meant to have come, but his gut told him to stay a little while longer, and so he did.

Trying to mimic Pitch's composure, he shrugged and placed his arms lightly over his thighs. “Thought I might create some mischief, and where else to get in trouble than the Nightmare King's lair?”

Pitch replied with a sarcastic smirk, and Jack smiled as he saw his patience wearing thin. Maybe this could be more fun than he thought, as long as Pitch didn't get too frisky with his scythe. If he still had his scythe, after the Guardians destroyed most of his Nightmares. Could Pitch still control his sand now that no one believed him in anymore? Did he have any power?

“Before I break your staff again, I suggest you scram,” Pitch huffed heavily. “There isn't anything down in that hole anyways.”

“Then why are you so protective of it?” Jack peered at the crater, vaguely wondering how Pitch managed to escape from his prison.

“It is my home, after all,” the Nightmare King scoffed, striding towards the entrance. “I would prefer if I didn't return to find it in a mess.”

“Not like you have anything better to do than clean, right?” Jack said in a mocking tone, beginning to sound more childish and rude. He didn't really mean to, but with the chance to mock Pitch right in front of him and his recent lack of happiness, it just came out that way.

Pitch didn't take it well at all. In a moment he was there beneath Jack's staff, reminding the spirit of how he probably escaped – shadow travel – just before he was knocked off balance the staff falling out from beneath him thanks to a hefty kick from Pitch. Jack managed to catch himself just before he landed, floating lightly to the ground, but the gentle landing did nothing to quell his rising temper.

“I recognize the pain in your eyes, Jack.”

He froze – if that was possible, given his state – and stared up at Pitch in slight shock.

“I will brush this off without a second thought, but I will not accept you taking any more of you anger out on me. If you really wish to vent yourself, then at least do it in a respectable way.”

“Like taking over the world with your shadows was a respectable way for you to vent your anger at the Guardians,” Jack huffed, sitting up and brushing away the dirt.

“That was...that's in the past, Jack. Things have changed.”

Jack looked up, appalled by the man's words. It had only been fifteen years ago. What all could happen in fifteen years that didn't happen from when the Guardians appeared to Pitch's attack on the world? It made no sense, but Jack did notice something glinting between the man's curled grey fingers.

“Only an idiot would believe that,” Jack mumbled, rubbing the back of his head on instinct. Even after over 300 years of being able to fly, he still had the instinct to check his head for bumps when he fell.

“Only an idiot would come to mess around with the Nightmare King, and yet here you are, about to blast a hole in my home.”

Pitch's vividly golden eyes came down to watch Jack. Immediately, the boy wished to change the subject, trying to grasp his mind around the fact that he was now having a casual conversation with the enemy.

“So what was it?” he asked, leaning back on the heels of his palms. “What changed from back then?”

Pitch sighed heavily, folding his hands together behind his back. The golden object glinted again, catching Jack's eye before it was gone again.

“If we're going to do this, we should at least get somewhere comfortable.”

“So now you're inviting me inside your home?” Jack gave a prideful smirk, getting to his feet. “Trust me enough not to destroy it?”

“I trust you,” he scoffed, “about as far as one of those little Tooth Faeries could throw you. But I have nothing better to do, and if I leave you be you could make an even worse mess than if I stay.”

“Fair enough. So how do we get it?” Jack grabbed his staff, glancing down at the crater.

“Like this.”

Rough hands grabbed Jack's shoulders and he found himself suddenly swirled into complete darkness, squeezed and squished through the shadows for only a moment before he stumbled out into Pitch's lair.

The travel may have been too short for him to even breathe, but everything inside him was roiling and upset, like someone had turned on a blender inside him.

Pitch gave a chuckle, glad to see he could ruin the pride of the frost spirit.

“Come.”

He vanished quickly into a dark passageway, and for a moment Jack thought he had shadow traveled again, but there was the glint of the object between his fingers, receeding into the distance, and Jack quickly floated after him, landing just beside him and walking across the freezing rock. It was truly cold for Jack to feel the rock beneath him, and he wondered if Pitch enjoyed the temperature. The words came back to him again, of how well darkness and cold went together. Despite the memories that came with this cavern, Jack supposed it did feel comfortable, the shadowy walls and the frozen rock. If only there was something homey in here.

“In here.” 

Pitch opened a wooden door, surprising Jack. He hadn't though that there were any doors here, let alone any light. From within the room he saw a flickering orange light, most likely a lantern or candle. As he stepped inside he realized that here was the homey he was missing in the cavern. Old wood-framed sofas and chairs scattered the room, a coffee table set in the middle of them all. This is where the lantern was settled, the flame inside beginning to flicker and fade. Darkness closed in around the walls and ceiling, but it was – as much as Jack didn't want to admit – incredibly comfortable-looking.

Without hesitation, Jack fwumped himself down in an armchair, setting his staff against the table and sinking into the cushions. He could tell they were well-used, but that made them all the better. The further he could sink into a chair, the more cozy it was.

“So, what was it?”

“Hm?” Pitch looked up from where he was messing with the lantern, turning it up so they could at least see each other.

“What changed you?”

Pitch shrugged and settled himself on the couch, fidgeting with the trinket between his slender fingers. Now that the light was better, Jack saw it was a dull golden color, faded from years of being held and rubbed.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, obviously trying to stall the inevitable conversation.

“No. I only drink coffee.”

“And I only drink tea.”

“And so we've reached an impasse.” Jack sat up impatiently. “Come on. I want to know what changed so greatly that the Nightmare King no longer wishes to exact his revenge on the Guardians. I mean, really. What could've happened? Some great epiphany from the beyond?”

“And what if that's exactly what it was?” Pitch came around to glare at Jack.

It left Jack a bit taken aback, his eyes gone wide. Finally he settled back into the armchair, tucking his legs up beneath him.

“Alright then.” Jack gestured to Pitch, wishing him to continue.

Pitch folded his hands together in his lap, leaning forward with an air of overbearing concentration.

“It happened just a year or two ago. I'd been hiding down in this cavern since my rise against the Guardians, pensive over how fearful I was to even grace the outer world with my presence. It tore me apart. How could my own fear turn on me that way?

“I had begun to realize that it was because the world didn't need me any more. No one needed me. I had nothing to live for. The Fearlings and shadows whispered sweet longings into my ears, and finally I was giving in. I was going to let them win, but something happened.”

Pitch looked down and opened his hands, revealing the small golden trinket. It was a locket, free of its chain. Despite how old and dull it was, Pitch had obviously taken good care of it. There were no dents or scratches, only the wear from constant years of rubbing it between his palms. He showed it carefully to Jack, prying open the latch with his grey, worn-down nails. Leaning in, Jack saw that within was a picture of a young girl. She was lovely, in the way that Jack's little sister had been lovely. Full of life, with a wide smile and cheerful eyes. The girl's hair curled softly over her shoulders, and Jack felt drawn to her, wanting to stroke the picture, but he kept his hands to himself. From the way Pitch held it, it was obvious he wasn't very willing to give it up.

“This is my daughter,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lip, “Seraphina.”

“She's very beautiful.”

“She's very reckless.” Pitch's smile faded at a sudden memory and he pulled the locket away, closing it tightly between his fingers. Jack noticed the tendons stiffen on the back of his hand. “You might know her under a different name. Mother Nature.”

“Woah, woah. Wait a sec.” Jack splayed out his hands, unbelieving. “You're telling me that Mother Nature...is your daughter?”

Pitch gave a sort of distant smile, fastening his gaze on the flame within the lantern.

“Hard to believe, but it's true. She was quite fond of me when she was younger, but then...well, duty called for me. Not long after I became what I am today, and I didn't see her for a long time.” He rubbed his hands together, a bit jerky as the locket rolled between them. “We met a few times in the past, but it was short-lived. I never really got the chance to speak to her, and I had nearly forgotten about her until a year ago.

“Out of no where, she showed up here in my lair. I thought I had gone absolutely mad. My mind had finally broke, and now I was hallucinating my daughter. But she grabbed me and shook me. Hard. I can't even remember what she said to me first, just that I was incredulous at her appearance.

“She sat me down in this room, and we just talked. About everything. How hard I had fought against the shadows, how she had been my only sanity when they whispered in my ear. How she had missed me all those years, and waited for me to return. Something changed in me that day. I was smiling again, I was laughing. But she couldn't stay. It was a miracle that she had been away for as long as she was, and left me alone just an hour after she came.

“I've heard nothing of her since then. Nature has continued to thrive and fall, but I've...I don't know. I stopped hating everything. I started to believe that even if children can't see me, there are still those who fear the dark. I could use that, and I got better.” He shrugged. “I haven't used the Nightmare Sand since her visit, and even the Fearlings have been quiet. It could blow up at any second, but I'm holding onto it for now. And that's the best I can do.”

Jack stared intently at Pitch. He hadn't even been sure Pitch was telling the truth when he said he would tell Jack what had changed. Now that everything was spilling forth, Jack was left in complete silence, no longer sure what to think of the golden-eyed man sitting there before him. If all of this was true...if that girl in the locket really was Mother Nature...how could Jack not believe this ridiculous story?

“Well?”

Jack jerked out of his thoughts, refocusing on Pitch. “Huh?”

“Do you believe me?”

Jack looked down at the shine of the locket between Pitch's fingers, and decided to make a leap of faith that he would probably regret.

“I do,” he said with a nod.

It was silent for several minutes, Jack wondering how long Pitch had been roaming around outside, and what he had been doing since his daughter visited. Spreading more fear? Hiding in the dark? Selling girl scout cookies?

Suddenly, Pitch stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. “It's past midnight by now, I'm sure. Would you like to spend the night?”

Jack looked up, just now realizing how tired and achy he was from kicking snow and ice around in the Antarctic all day. “I suppose. I can just sleep here, if that's alright.”

Pitch gave a smile, seeing how the frost spirit was already nodding off in the chair, curled into the armrest. A few moments later his eyelids had drooped shut and he was breathing evenly, deep into sleep.

With a soft chuckle, Pitch stepped forward, running his fingers gently through the white hair. “Sleep well, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a buttload to write, but I enjoyed it!  
> Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors, I didn't have time to edit it. Plus I'm getting a headache from staring at my laptop screen for seven hours straight.  
> I hope to have chapter three up soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is still broken, his emotions in turmoil, and he begins to find hints of feelings for Pitch in his heart.

Jack couldn't be sure what time it was when he woke. He could have been sleeping for days, for all he knew. There was no natural light, only the lantern on the table, and it was growing dim, beginning to run out of oil. Jack wondered if Pitch had even used this room before his daughter had visited, though the furniture was well-worn, so he supposed someone must have used it. Maybe Pitch had stolen it from some abandoned mansion. Or maybe some poor family came home to an empty house one day. Perhaps they had belonged to Pitch when he was still human.

Either way, Jack didn't feel like asking.

With a small yawn, he rose from the chair and stretched his thin arms above his head, hearing the pop of his joints. Somewhere in the cavern he could smell something brewing, and the odor reminded him strongly of coffee, which was his favorite morning drink. He practically lived off caffeine these days, and had no regrets about it. 

He grabbed his staff and padded out of the room, following his nose towards what he supposed must be the kitchen. It was down a few smoothly-carved stone corridors, and the door inside was just like the one to the sitting room. Dark cherry wood, with rubbed-down carvings. If Jack looked close enough, he thought he could make out some sort of language, and if his eyesight was right, there seemed to be a moon on the center of the main panel. They looked incredibly old, and Jack wasn't sure how Pitch had gotten them in here, or managed to get them attached to the rock. It made the place seem more like a home, though.

Jack never would get over that notion. That Pitch, the unfeeling Nightmare King had a home, just like all the other Guardians. Then again, he was still grasping the idea that Pitch had a daughter, and one that was Mother Nature at that. Maybe nothing about Pitch would ever make sense, but all Jack could do was accept it and move on.

The wood was cool to the touch as Jack pushed inside the kitchen, peering around at the stone walls and floor. Most people would find the cold atmosphere oppressing, but Jack found himself at home, spreading frost in small patterns with each footstep. There was a small table just to the left, and the entire back wall was a long counter with glass cupboards above and a stove oven at the very right. He had no coffee maker, but there was a kettle on the stove and many jars of tea mixtures lining the back of the counter.

Pitch was moving around the short island counter, his grey fingers so mesmerizing and graceful as they poured coffee into a black mug and then moved over to stir his tea, pulling out the bag. For a few moments Jack just stood there and watched, enthralled at how beautiful someone so evil could be.

Jack shook his head. He would not think like this.

“Did you sleep well?” Pitch glanced up, setting the tea bag in his spoon and placing it gently on the counter. “I can't imagine being curled in that chair for fourteen hours straight could have been comfortable.”

Jack gave a small shrug, not even surprised that he had been asleep for so long. He had been tired, and he didn't get much sleep otherwise. Guardians didn't really need sleep, but Jack still enjoyed it from time to time, much in the way that Sandy cherished his naps. Plus, losing Jamie had really taken its toll on Jack. He was just glad that he hadn't been plagued with Nightmares, especially considering he was inside Pitch's lair.

“Slept like a rock,” Jack said nonchalantly, floating up so he was sitting on the edge of the island, eying the steaming mug of coffee. “I'm pretty used to curling up, it's just always been..cozy to me. Gives me the illusion of being warm again.”

Pitch just nodded in acceptance, scooting the coffee across the counter to Jack. “Cream or sugar?”

“Lots.” Jack pulled the mug into his hands, loving how the scalding surface gave his fingers a tingling feel of something, even if it wasn't quite the warmth he was searching for. “I'm kind of a major sweet tooth, so drinking coffee straight is like trying to drink gasoline to me.”

With a shrug, Pitch handed Jack the sugar bowl and a small pot of cream, a small silver spoon leaning against the edge.

“I've never been one for sweets myself, but I do enjoy a treat every now and then.”

Pitch leaned his elbows forward on the counter, his tea between his hands, half-finished. The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks together. Jack was wondering what Pitch could be thinking, and Pitch was wondering what Jack was thinking. Really, they were getting no where, but they were both weary, so they were alright with it for a few minutes. It wasn't until Jack's mug was empty that he finally broke the silence.

“So what now?”

“What do you mean?” Pitch leaned forward, and Jack pulled his legs up on the counter, turning around to face him.

“I mean, you've told me pretty much your deepest secret, I've slept in your lounge, and now we're making stupid conversation over coffee.”

“And tea,” Pitch interjected weakly, swirling his finger around the surface of the mug and staring into its empty depths. His golden eyes had gotten dull again.

“Whatever.” Jack sighed heavily, casting his eyes down to his knees. “I hate you, Pitch. Or at least, I thought I did. I should hate you. And I definitely shouldn't trust you enough to sleep as well as I did. So what do we do now?”

The boy looked up, hoping to meet Pitch's eyes, but he was still staring intently at the remains of his English Breakfast brew. Something in Jack snapped suddenly, and he grabbed away the mug, holding it up like he wanted to smash it down or throw it, but he just grit his teeth and glared at the counter, unsure where this anger was coming from.

It was everything, he concluded. Everything was screwed up. Jamie was gone, and here he was fraternizing with the enemy. How would Tooth look at him if she knew he had slept in Pitch's chair? Would Sandy be disappointed in him? Would North shake his head sadly and walk away? Bunny would probably start throwing boomerangs at him until he was bleeding on the floor. The Man in the Moon would probably just kick him out of the Guardians club.

And yet some part of Jack didn't really care. He was broken, and he was alone, so what did it matter if the Guardians hated him? So what if he wanted to hang out with Pitch for a little while, if he wanted to chat stupidly over coffee and tea?

NO.

Jack slammed the mug down and leapt from the counter, not even caring to grab his staff as he stalked towards the door. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he couldn't sit there anymore, couldn't look at Pitch without feeling guilt and frustration and confusion all at once. So off he went down the corridors, his feet padding loudly through the stone walls, no light to guide him on his way. He had incredible senses, though, and managed only to stub his toe on a few corners as he marched somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was away from Pitch.

At some point he decided he just wanted to get out, wanted to fly to Siberia and make a snow storm, but there was no end to these tunnels, and without his staff for light or Pitch's guidance, he was completely lost.

Soon his pants became sobs. His chest tightened and he began to run, taking turns more quickly and bumping into walls. Everything inside him just broke, and soon he was outright crying, his whole body aching and his mind a blur, but one feeling was very clear. The pain that stabbed through his chest. No, not pain. It was a sense of hollowness. Like someone had ripped out his heart and soul and left a gaping, bleeding hole behind.

It hurt.

One more sharp turn, and Jack's legs couldn't take it anymore. He collapsed into a heap, shaking and sobbing, his tears turning to ice on his cheeks as he scraped them away with his fingernails, sure that he would wake tomorrow with red lines down his face. But he just didn't care anymore. He could be bleeding out from his throat and it wouldn't matter, because no physical pain could match what was inside him right now.

He wanted snow. He wanted ice. He wanted to numb away this feeling and forget all his emotions. How could a soul so broken be the Guardian of Fun? Nothing seemed fun anymore. If anything, this was torture, and Jack was just about ready to give himself in.

But then a warm pair of arms came around him and pulled him into a heated body. The arms were so tight, and by the moon, they were just so warm. 

And something inside of Jack sparked. He wasn't at all sure what it was, but Pitch's heat was amazing, and for just a moment, Jack forgot. The pain went away, and finally Jack could just cry. He wailed and sobbed and clung to Pitch with desperation, needing nothing more than to get all of it out in one long, messy session of crying.

Minutes passed, and Pitch stayed, stroking the soft head of white hair and gripping the thin boy tightly to him, wondering if Jack had been eating properly. From his mental state at the moment, he assumed not. But Pitch tried not to worry about that now, focusing instead on how Jack's fingers gripped tightly to his robe, his face buried against his pale grey neck. Tears were soaking into his shoulder, and he knew that it would be a pain to clean it up – especially the snot sticking to him – but Pitch never pulled away. He stayed. And something in Jack changed right then. Something in the hollow hole of his chest was filled again, even if only a little bit. He couldn't figure out why, but slowly he came out of his fit, pulling himself together and rubbing at his red eyes.

“S-sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, his throat burning from sobbing.

“Don't apologize, Jack. I know how hard it is to deal with losing those who believe in you...I had to go through years of the pain.” Pitch gave a sad smile and slid an arm around Jack's waist, helping him to his feet. “But let's just focus on you, ok? You'll need more rest now, and food would help.”

“No.” Jack pulled away, wobbling a little but managing to stay on his feet. “What I need is outside. I need the snow, I need the air. And I need a light...”

The corridor was still pitch dark – or pitch black, he supposed – and all Jack could see was the faint glow of Pitch's eyes.

“Here.”

Something cold pressed into Jack's palm, and his staff lit up blue, familiar in his hands. He was a little surprised that it hadn't been snapped in half.

“All in one piece this time?” he asked with a bit of snark in his voice, but Pitch just gave a smile back.

“I figured seeing you cry was enough. Besides, now you owe me for getting snot and tears all over my robe.” Pitch gave a laugh and placed his hand on Jack's shoulder, sending them roiling back through the shadows and then out to the clearing above his lair. Jack's stomach twisted from the moment-long journey, but he kept on his feet all the same.

“I'll expect to see you soon to repay that favor,” Pitch said, reaching forward and running his fingers along Jack's cheek before vanishing again into the shadows. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the Nightmare King could disappear.

His cheek was tingling where Pitch touched him, and Jack placed a hand over the spot, unable to deny how he was beginning to turn a deep red. That warmth...maybe it was what he was looking for. Maybe Pitch could give him something that no human could. Honestly, he wished to be back in the man's arms, curling up against where he could hear the heartbeat, the source of all heat in the body.

Jack shook his head hard. He was confused enough already, and adding one more thing onto his plate really wouldn't help. Besides, it was insane. Him, having feelings for Pitch? There was no way. Right?

“I really need to get my head on straight,” he sighed, clutching tightly to his staff as the wind picked him up and carried him for Siberia.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is still struggling, and even North can't help the frost spirit who's become lost to his self-hatred and pain. But there is one thing on Jack's mind that might still help him calm down...

Finally, Jack managed to bring a smile to his face again. When he was flying along the frozen winds of the world's worst tourist destination, he could never be truly upset. Besides, feeling the ice scrape past his cheeks – though never really touching him, they still had a sort of sting to them – was a good way to sharpen his thoughts away from Pitch and Jamie and everything bad that had happened in the past week.

Three days had already passed since his visit to Pitch. It had been enough time for Jack to cause several ice storms around the world, screaming into the wind and thrashing about through the wild winds that always came with his storms. He had also spent several hours curled on some lonely chimney stock, crying into his arms until he was sure he had run dry.

Now, everything was out. He had taken his rest. His body felt alive again, and though his chest was still heavily hollow – as weird as it sounded, it was true – he knew it was time to revisit Pitch, or at least visit someone. 

Bunnymund would only cause him to get in a fight and bring back his tentatively contained pain. Toothiana would be nice, but she would also pity him, and pity wasn't something he could handle right now. He could go to Sandy, but he wanted to actually talk to someone, so maybe another time. That left two people: North and Pitch.

North would understand. He would pat Jack on the back, and give him a big hug, and then find something they could both do to get his mind off the pain.

Pitch, well...Pitch was Pitch. He was unpredictable. Jack could go to him and find himself sobbing on the floor, lost in some corridor again. Or he could have a good cup of coffee and a quiet chat, and the coffee was seriously tempting him. Pitch may have been a tea person, but he made a mean cup of joe.

It was one or the other. See the wonder of North's workshop, or the comforting dark of Pitch's lair. As easy as the decision may seem on the outside, Jack was seriously conflicted. North would be the easy way out. It was the comfortable way, and Jack knew he would have a high chance of coming out of it feeling even better than he was now.

But Pitch. Mysterious, ever-changing, unpredictable Pitch. Jack was undeniably drawn to him, even if it was just by curiosity. But he knew there was something else to it, something that was pulling Jack back to that cavern, and he was incredibly enticed to follow that urge. Not to mention his warmth. He had to know if Pitch's warmth was what he had been searching for. If it was what the scalding coffee couldn't satisfy, what no friendly hug from the Guardians could appease. He needed to know.

Jack settled himself on the foundation of a house that was burnt down long ago. It was hard to think with all the wind in his face, and as much as he didn't want to succumb to his thoughts, he had to make his decision before he seriously went insane.

Pitch or North. Darkness or wonder. Warmth or work. Mystery or the known.

Jack swore into the breeze and looked down. His frost covered the charred wood, making an icy blue pattern over black. It was beautiful. Just as Pitch said...nothing goes together better than darkness and ice.

With a grit in his teeth, Jack knocked his staff against the wood and flew into the air as the foundation crumbled down, but he was too far in the clouds to hear the destruction. He pressed hard into the frigid air, keeping his mind cleared towards his only goal: get to North before his mind could stick on Pitch for any longer.

His speed never decreased until the workshop was in sight, rapidly approaching beneath him. Soon he could see the massive Yeti trundling through the snow with new toys, and old ones to set in the bonfire out back. Jack couldn't so much as see the bonfire, but feel it. A weird disturbance in the usual cool aura that surrounded the North Pole. He figured North would be out there, watching over the fire to make sure it didn't get out of control.

The closer Jack flew to the fire, the more he could feel it, burning at the cloud of ice and cold that surrounded him. Still, this heat was nothing like Pitch's. He could feel it, and it would definitely burn him if he came too close, but...

He wasn't supposed to be thinking about Pitch.

Scolding himself, he flew down, spotting North standing with his arms crossed before the fire, his arms bare and huge over his chest. The heat made him especially pink around his cheeks and nose, which only intensified his smile when he saw Jack, bringing a fresh warmth to the frost spirit's chest. He landed down beside the large man, a smile coming to his own pale cheeks as North grabbed him without hesitation into a strong hug.

“It has been long time, Jack!” he gruffed into his ear, long beard tickling Jack's nose. “Phil has missed you.”

Jack gave a laugh, smiling wider. Perhaps this had been the right choice, after all.

“Phil probably doesn't have much of a job anymore,” Jack said, as North set him back on his feet, “without me to keep out all the time.”

“True, true.” North gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “No matter, how has our newest recruit been?”

Instantly Jack's eyes went to the fire, not wanting North to see the pain that flamed in his eyes. He tried to pull it off as a movement towards the warmth – even though it really did nothing for him at all, aside from a slight tingle.

“It's been alright, I guess.” Jack chewed on his lip, thinking for a moment before deciding he could at least tell North one truth. “Jamie stopped believing in me.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and Jack rubbed his hands together, tucking them under his pits. It wasn't that he was cold, it was just that talking about painful things gave him the need to pull himself close, to hide away, especially when he was talking to another Guardian. He was supposed to be strong, to be the Guardian of fun and snow days, and here he was moping and upset over a child believing.

But Jamie wasn't just a child. He had been Jack's first human touch, his first believer. Surely North was still reminiscent of his first child to hope for presents? Or was it just Jack, being a naïve teenager? It was hard for him to believe, but he could hardly think of any of the Guardians having sad memories of when their first child stopped believing. Given how old they all where, they had probably long forgotten. It was still a fresh wound for Jack, able to be poked at and prodded until he was writhing in agony, hidden away in some remote corner of the Earth all over again.

“Do you know why we burn these toys, Jack?” North asked softly, gesturing a large hand over the still-growing fire.

Still huddled into himself, Jack shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on the ever-changing flames.

“All these toys belonged to children. Children who died before Christmas came.” North stepped towards the fire, his face taking on an eerie orange and yellow glow. “I could never bring myself to reuse these toys, to break them down and use the materials for other wonders. They were to belong to those children, and as such those children died, so their toys will get their own sort of funeral.”

The more Jack watched the fire, the more hollow his chest felt. He quickly looked away, watching instead as the snow gathered between his toes. The pile of crumbling, crackling toys was massive, and he didn't want to think about all the children now lying dead and cold in the ground, or turned to ash like the toys here. He didn't want to think about Jamie, dead. That would be much worse than losing his belief. At least now he knew Jamie was alive, that he was living a good life. Dead, there was nothing Jack could do. No way to console himself that at least one of them was leading a good life.

“Children come and go, Jack.” North turned to him, placing two large hands on his shoulders. Jack still didn't look up. “Jamie was bound to stop believing at some time or another. It is inevitable. The best we can do is continue protecting what we stand for, and help the children who do still believe.”

This really wasn't helping.

“There are new children born into this world every day! And we must help them to grow, to wonder, to hope and dream and remember, and to have some fun.”

North gave a wide smile, leaning down to try and get at Jack's eyes. He still wouldn't look up, and his hollow chest was just getting heavier.

“And what unbelieving parents will teach their child to believe in Jack Frost? Jamie was my only chance to spread the belief, North. Jamie was it. And now he's gone.”

Jack looked up now, his eyes icier than normal, and made North pull back slightly, his hands still planted firmly on the thin shoulders.

“We can help to spread the belief, Jack,” he suggested, smile a little wavery now.

“Nothing can help anymore.” Jack ripped away, stomping a few steps from North. “You don't get it. You've lost hundreds, thousands, probably millions of kids. You don't even know them. You know what their material wants are, and you give it to them for free. But they know that it was you. No one knows that Jack Frost spreads the snow days and fun. There's a scientific explanation for snow, so what's the need for a frost spirit?”

“Jack-”

“NO.” Jack whipped around, glaring at North. “Just stop. I don't care how many kids come into this world every day. I don't care what stupid motivational thing you have to say, I don't want to listen to any of it!”

Jack's fists clenched tightly, the snow beginning to roil around him, turning to ice and sparking with his icy lightning.

“All you guys can think about is happiness and joy, and working all for the children. It's all for the children!” Jack began pacing back and forth, fuming and leaving icicles behind him. “Yeah, okay, so that's what we were put on this world to do, whatever. I get that much, but don't you guys ever think about yourselves? Don't you ever think about how exhausting it can be, doing nothing for yourself? I've been selfless for over three hundred years, North. It's time I thought about myself for once. So shut up about the children. Shut up about all the new little girls and boys that are born and ready to believe, because I just don't care. It's my turn to take care of myself. And I don't need you lecturing me about it.”

Grinding his teeth together, Jack began swirling the snow around his hands in an agitated fashion. He had come to North for help, and he had no right to be so angry just because North had been trying to help. But he couldn't help it. He was too angry right now to care, and the only thing on his mind was Pitch. Getting to Pitch. Feeling that warmth again. Calming himself down from this rage. Anything.

He didn't want to admit it.

He needed Pitch.

North tried to say something, tried to reach out for Jack, but there was a burst of snow, so big that the huge bonfire went out for a moment, and the boy was gone, leaving behind a sad-looking old man and several irritated, snow-covered Yeti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOOO sorry this chapter was so short. I'm really glad that so many people have been liking this :3 if you really like it, spread the story! (Shameless self-promotion ahaha, but really. Sharing my work is the thing that makes me most happy. Knowing that people enjoy my work is what helps me to keep writing, and if they don't enjoy it, well...I apologize for taking up this much of your time already! Gomen!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything about Jack is breaking. And only one person in the world can fix him......

He had no idea what he was doing anymore. Nothing made sense, and he was just letting the wind carry him forward, away from everything, desperate to escape, following the hope that Pitch's warmth would shove down the ache in his chest. But all he could do was hope, and he knew that. Even hope was failing him, and there was nothing he could do but bury himself into the winds and cold and desperately try to dissolve away his pain.

It hurt.

It all hurt.

Jack's vision went white as he pushed hard into the winds, feeling like his chest would tug him down to the ground if he didn't keep angling himself upward. Being with North had just scraped out another part of his chest, leaving a hollow, bleeding mess, and he was barely keeping himself together. He tried to hard to find something to concentrate on, to lose himself in, but it was all becoming blurry. Soon he found himself losing altitude, tears on his cheeks flying away as droplets of ice.

Jamie had let him down. North had let him down. Jack felt so utterly alone.

Perhaps there was a reason for him being so alone. Maybe no one really liked him. They could be faking it, giving him a smile and a hug just because they felt bad and didn't want to crush his broken soul further. Why would anyone love someone so naïve and whiny? How could they even put up with him, when they were so busy with their holidays and dreams and teeth?

At some point Jack had stopped flying. He was just falling now, staff whirling through the air high above him. It felt good, this sensation. The wind was even harder against him, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine that the pressure was ripping away all his problems and doubts, but as soon as his back hit the first branch it all came slamming back into him. He scrambled for a hold, for a wind to cushion him, but there was nothing. He was hurtling towards the solid ground and there was nothing to stop him, nothing to break his fall.

He could die.

Why wasn't he worried?

Why didn't he care if death came for him?

What was wrong with him?

He knew the answer.

Everything.

Whump.

Out of nowhere, strong yet bony arms came beneath him, sagging a bit from the weight but holding steady. Jack's bones jarred, and every inch of him ached, his vision shaded with black at the edges. All he could make out around him was something grey, and amid that grey, two pinpoints of vivid gold. He thought it might have been framed with trees, or something green.

There was a muffled noise he could hear, but it was like he had cotton stuffed against his eardrums. Nothing was clear, but slowly – so painfully slowly – he made out the features of a sharp face.

“Pitch...?”

He heard a heavy sigh, which he assumed of relief, but maybe Pitch had been hoping Jack was dead already? Jack just didn't know anymore. He couldn't think straight.

“Thank god you're okay....” Soft lips pressed to Jack's forehead. It felt nice, and it gave him something to focus on. “I saw you falling, and I thought you were already dead.”

I wish I was. 

Jack dug his nails into his palm, trying to silence that voice.

“What happened, Jack?”

The frost spirit shook his head, and winced. Any sort of movement hurt like a fire through his muscles, and the tendons in his hands were tense. He didn't really want to move any time soon, though he also felt slightly bad for making Pitch carry him. Which was worse, pain beyond imagination through your body, or being carried around by your previous enemy?

“You don't have to say,” Pitch assured him quietly, his lips still pressed to the cold forehead. Jack's icy lashes fluttered and he closed his eyes. It felt so nice. “Would you like some coffee? Water? Rest?”

“You're awfully motherly for a Nightmare King,” Jack joked, even his voice burning. He did seem to remember screaming into the wind quite a bit.

“You have no right to joke at me.” Pitch looked down, his expression serious but not unfriendly. “I'm not letting you out of my sight for at least the night, so just stop complaining.”

Jack resigned into a weak pout, awfully out of sorts. He was still grasping at the idea that he had just been suicidal. But now that he was in Pitch's arms, no such thoughts occurred to him. It was that warmth again. It completely covered him, seeping into his bones and giving him a feeling that hadn't been there for over three hundred years. As humiliating as it was, he really didn't want Pitch to put him down.

In these arms, he actually felt wanted. He felt like everything could get better, and weirdest of all, he felt like he was believed in again. Some day, Jack would seriously have to meet Pitch's daughter. Whatever she had told him was working, and the longer he remained in those arms, the less Jack doubted that Pitch had changed. There really was something different about the man, something so wonderful and warm.

The shadows came around them both and after a whirling sensation, Jack blinked and found himself in a massive bedroom. The bed was four-postered, draped with black silk curtains and layered with a thick quilt that had golden designs stitched around the border. A dresser was pressed against the left wall, make of the same wood as the bed and the doors. Just like the lounge, it was comfy in that cold and dark way, perfect for Jack and Pitch.

Jack and Pitch. Pitch and Jack.

He wouldn't be getting that out of his head any time soon. It rang and rang through Jack's mind, so loud that he didn't feel Pitch walk him over to the bed and lay him down.

“Water or coffee?”

Jack jerked slightly, looking up with hazy eyes. Pitch was standing there, looking regal as ever in his stark black robes. His features seemed so much more fuller than before, but they still reminded Jack of the elves from Jamie's story books. All angles and sharp, the only gentle shapes in his eyes and lips. Jack really couldn't stop staring at him.

“Jack.”

He shook his head this time, trying to clear away the strange thoughts of Pitch.

“Coffee please...with lots of sugar and cream.”

Pitch gave a short nod and vanished once more into the shadows, leaving Jack in the dark room. The only light was another oil lantern on the nightstand. This one was full of oil but had been set low, giving him just enough light to see the shapes of all the furniture.

Without Pitch here, everything seemed duller. Jack was still holding on to the memory of his intense warmth, but the longer he was left alone, the more he fell back into that horrible rut. His chest was still hollow. He still wouldn't mind if he fell off a cliff and didn't survive.

But then Pitch came into his thoughts. And everything dulled out. All the pain, all the anguish, it melted into a corner of his mind. It seemed smaller, like something he could actually deal with.

Why Pitch?

What about the Nightmare King gave him such comfort and ease?

Right now, his thoughts were too out of order for him to figure anything out. He needed that coffee, and he needed Pitch's warmth. In an attempt to mimic the warmth, Jack covered himself in the sheets, but it almost had the opposite effect. Frost spread across the fabric and it became just as cold around him.

Moments later, there was a soft noise and Pitch reappeared beside Jack with two steaming mugs. From the look of the liquid, it seemed they were both coffee.

“I thought you only drank tea?” Jack held his pale hands out for a mug, which looked to be the same as the one he drank out of last time.

Pitch gave a small shrug and set the mug in Jack's hands, taking a tentative seat at the edge of the bed, taking notice of how the boy had curled himself beneath the covers.

“I've never really had it. Thought I should give it a try.”

“Never had coffee?!” Jack looked appalled, but was smiling all the same. “What a crime! Well, drink up then.”

While Jack took heavy sips of his caramel-colored drink, he watched the man closely for his reaction.

Pitch took his first sip, just a small little smack of his lips against the liquid to get a taste on his tongue. Immediately his face twisted, and Jack could tell he was trying not to cough all over the bedsheets. It was hard, but Jack kept in his laughter until Pitch's mug was safely on the nightstand. As soon as it touched, the burst of giggling echoed through the entire room. He was doubled over, clutching his stomach with one hand and trying to hold his coffee steady with the other. The drink still managed to spill all over the covers, but neither of them seemed to notice, or care.

Jack was happy again. His smile was true, and his laugh was full. Pitch couldn't help but notice this, and even with the bitter taste on his tongue, he smiled widely. It was good to see the frost spirit back in his true element of fun, even if there was still the darkness and pain beneath. But for now, he didn't want this moment to end. Jack wasn't the only one with growing emotions, but it was obvious that the boy hadn't yet noticed that Pitch was beginning to return those feelings.

For now, taking it slow was best.

“That bad?” Jack said through his laughter, setting his own mug down shakily.

Pitch gave a nod, gazing down at the stains on his blanket. “Disgusting. I don't know how you managed to choke it down, even with all the sugar and cream.”

Jack shrugged, leaning against the pillows. “Most say it's an acquired taste, but I've liked it since I first tried it.”

“I'll stick with my tea.” Pitch gazed at the boy and smiled, his golden eyes taking on a sort of glow.

The blush that rose in Jack's cheeks must have been painfully noticeable, but he didn't turn away from Pitch. Their eyes locked, and something isnide of them both began to grow warm. Jack's chest didn't feel quite as hollow, and Pitch felt like someone had lit a flame in his heart. It felt so nice, and neither of them wanted to let it disappear.

“You should get rest,” Pitch said softly, still locked on the set of blue eyes before him.

“Should I?” Jack's voice was barely a whisper. He didn't know what he was saying anymore. He was leaning closer to Pitch.

A moment passed. A minute. Pitch leaned in a few inches, and their noses brushed. Electricity sparked through Jack's skin and he gave a small gasp.

Suddenly Pitch pulled away, glancing down at his lap.

“Yes. You should.” He stood abruptly, and without thinking, Jack's hand lashed out, clamping down on Pitch's wrist. There came a soft sigh, and Jack couldn't tell if it meant anything or if Pitch was just letting out a breath of air he had been holding in.

“Will you...stay with me?”

The tendons in Pitch's hands stiffened beneath Jack's fingers. Should he let go?

“You can't keep using me to run away, Jack.”

It was Jack's turn to stiffen, but his fingers just clamped tighter around Pitch's. His chest felt horribly hollow again, and his mind was both reeling and completely still all at once.

“You're hurting, and you're using me to hide away from those problems.” Pitch sat down beside the boy, looking back at him now. His eyes no longer held that glow. “I recognize that it's hard. I don't mean to say that you're being childish, but as a...as a friend, it's my job to tell you that now is the time to deal with your pain. You have to face it, rather than keep burying it beneath temporary reliefs.”

Jack was trembling, his hands sweaty. But Pitch's words didn't really hurt. They were the truth, and he couldn't deny them.

“I will stay with you, Jack.”

His eyes snapped upward, meeting Pitch's once more.

“On one condition.”

Jack sagged a little, but he was still listening intently, his hope renewed at Pitch's words. Maybe he could make it through this, after all. Maybe he didn't have to kill himself to escape the pain of this world. And he knew now, that Pitch was the only one who could truly help.

“What is it?” he asked in a hoarse voice, noticing faintly that Pitch's fingers were sliding between his.

“You can't ever give up on me.” Pitch's face was soft, and yet held that same seriousness from before, that definite look that Jack couldn't deny.

Slowly, the boy nodded. He was tired and sore, and his chest still felt like it was holding a bag of bricks inside, but with his hand in Pitch's and his body pressed so close, there was no way he could say he felt truly horrible.

“I won't. And I have a condition, too.” Jack looked down at their entwined hands, and brough them up to his lap, stroking his thumb along Pitch's grey knuckles. “Don't ever leave me behind.”

Those lips came again to Jack's head, and he shivered. Nothing in his lifetime had ever felt better than those lips.

“That's something I can agree to.”

The lamp was beginning to die down, and soon Jack found that he was in complete darkness, but it really didn't seem to matter. Pitch was still there, holding on tight, and his nose began to travel down Jack's cheek. It was so warm, and left a trail of tingles behind, but the thing that really made him shiver was those lips pressing gently against his own.

His throat closed. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was surrounded in darkness, and Pitch was kissing him, and everything was so warm and so soft and he was just lost. Before his thoughts could catch up, the lips were gone, but Pitch was still there, and he gently nudged at Jack, making him scoot across the bed to make room. As he slipped beneath the sheets, warmth engulfed Jack completely and he sighed happily, about to slide down from his sitting position before a thought came to his head.

Ignoring the burn of Pitch's eyes against him, Jack let go of the warm hand and grabbed the hem of his jacket, pulling it over his head. He tossed it somewhere into the darkness. The air hit his chest, but it felt neither hot or cold. Instead he slipped down beside Pitch and pulled the covers over his shoulder. For a small moment they lay there, not touching, until finally Jack rolled onto his side and nuzzled his face into Pitch's chest, ignoring the small noise of surprise.

“Getting a little frisky?” Pitch said with a sort of sly voice, but Jack just smiled and curled closer, and he felt warm arms come around his waist.

God that felt so good.

“You're warm. I'm cold. Get it?”

“Not really.” Pitch laughed, and buried in nose in the head of white hair. “But I suppose it doesn't matter. Just sleep now, frosty boy.”

As much as Jack wanted to make a comeback for the 'frosty boy' comment, he just closed his eyes and sunk into the mattress, so ready to sleep, and so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support guys! I hope I'm doing well with this!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this goes well guys, it's my first BlackIce fic!!  
> You can follow my tumblr gillspaintedbum for my art/fics (it's a new blog right now) or ashestocrows for fandoms, or kazuadono for yaoiness. Thanks for all the support!


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